


I'll Be Your Shield - Lost Scene from Captain America: The Winter Soldier

by aurora_ff



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier - Fandom
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_ff/pseuds/aurora_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steve Rogers had missed McCarthy, the Red Scare, locked away in ice. If he hadn’t...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Your Shield - Lost Scene from Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Natasha visited Steve only once in the military hospital, slipping in quietly to his guarded recovery room. Whomever had arranged the heavies had also put her name on the visitors’ list. It was probably Sam, calling in some favors from the VA. She had wanted with almost every fiber of her being to be in the initial search for Rogers; but she knew that if she didn't grab the scraps of intel she could from the remains of the Triskelion, while everything was still in chaos, she never would. She had uploaded plenty to the web, but there were still non-networked drives and paper files that held even more.

The pragmatism in that, the return to her old sensibilities, the old priorities, was a momentary comfort for her in the aftermath. But now she gazed upon Steve’s bruised, stitched, unconscious face, and pangs of regret and shame seized her.

Natasha slumped in the chair beside Steve’s bed, shaking. She wasn't a friend at all. She was a killer, a liar, a manipulator. She could never be worth him.

She stared blankly at her own hands cradled on her knees while his heart monitor beeped steadily. The ledger would never be clean.

The door to the room opened without a knock, and she bolted to her feet.

“Sam!” she exclaimed, relieved.

“Widow!” he responded, which came like a verbal punch in the gut as she panickedly looked to Steve, and Sam realized it all too late. “I mean...Natasha! Hey!” He closed the door, muttering, “Well, fuck.”

But bless Sam, he recovered well and pointed with his chin to the patient. “How can he be all roughed up and sleeping like that, and still look better than me struttin’ in uniform with a fresh buzz?”

He pitched. She hit, pretending that the awkward exchange had never happened. “I know,” she said lightly. “No wonder Coulson crushed on him.”

“Who?” Sam asked, honest confusion crossing his face.

“Never mind,” she countered. “I, um...brought some things to pass the time.” She emptied her purse of a worn paperback and a fresh candy bar, setting them on the swiveling tray attached to Steve's bed. Her eyes lingered on him again, probably a moment too long.

From over her shoulder, Sam muttered, “I remembered I forgot something in the rental. So I’ll be right back.”

Natasha was about to protest, but his back was already halfway out the door.

She looked again at Steve’s face, and began to reach down to stroke his hair, brush his lips, but then pulled away to bite her own finger tips. She didn’t have the right, nor his welcome.

There was going to be incredible amounts of political fallout from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s implosion. Her name was plastered all over those leaked documents. The American government would want answers, and when those answers ran dry, they would want someone to blame.

Captain America had missed McCarthy, the Red Scare, locked away in ice. If he hadn’t...

And then an idea came to her, a conviction. Nothing had felt so right before. Nothing so clear.

“I’ll be their witch,” Natasha spoke, narrowing her eyes. “Their redheaded, Russian-born scapegoat. I can’t be your friend, Rogers, _but I’ll be your shield._ ”

This time, Sam knocked.

“Hey, got it.” He held up his phone and a small docking speaker system. “1972, here we come!”

Natasha locked eyes with Sam. “I need a favor,” she said seriously. “For him.” She nodded toward Steve.

“Anything,” he responded, without hesitation.

“When he wakes up, keep him from watching the TV. Keep him from reading the newspaper. Distract him. Do whatever you can to keep him from telling anybody _anything_ about his involvement. Let me handle it. Let me take the fall, got it?” She was rarely so direct.

Sam frowned slightly, considering and looking to Steve. “I’ll do my best.”

Natasha nodded curtly. “You’re a good friend, Sam. Take care of him.” She headed towards the door.

“Natasha. Wait.” She paused without turning as Sam asked, “He...will we see you again?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I came by, to drop off a few things.” 

As she exited, and Sam looked down to the paperback copy of _Catch-22_ and the Baby Ruth, Natasha knew he and Rogers would eventually find scattered clues. A time and place where, if she hadn't been locked up by the feds, they would pay their respects to Nicholas Fury, not six feet under after all.


End file.
